


Marcus, the Roman Slave: Vignettes

by lookatmelaugh



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011), The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Apparent Betrayal, Esca's smiles, M/M, Suffering Marcus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookatmelaugh/pseuds/lookatmelaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes about Marcus' time as Esca's slave. Movie canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold, and Colder

Rain was rolling down Marcus’ body in small rivulets. He was shivering, and his bound hands and cramping leg gave him no comfort. Esca sat a short distance away, warming himself by a fire kindled beneath the protection of an overhanging branch. He had not given Marcus so much as a glance since their meeting with the Seal People, and for the first time since they set out on this wild goose chase Marcus was feeling fear in the pit of his stomach.

Esca, that traitorous bastard. Uncle Aquila was right, and Marcus had been a fool to trust him; no doubt he would now pay for his mistake with his life. Marcus smiled bitterly to himself, but his musings were cut short when a tribesman suddenly cuffed him, hard, on the head. He fell face-first to the ground and struggled to rise. He heard a peal of cruel laughter from the group of men, and anger flared within him at the sound.

Later, much later, Esca came and handed him a burnt piece of unleavened bread. Marcus glared at him without taking it; Esca just looked down stonily and placed the piece within easy reach of his bound hands. “What’s happening?” Marcus spat out, struggling to keep his teeth from chattering as he spoke. “What have you done, Esca?”

Esca just smiled at him coldly and went back to sit by his place by the fireside. His nonchalance made Marcus feel inexplicably colder.


	2. Honor

Mithras, he was tired of walking. His arms ached unbearably from having been bound and pulled on for hours; his legs hurt from struggling to keep up with the men’s brisk pace. He was overtaxing his wounded leg and he could feel the old pain returning; a slow, steady throb was building itself up in his thigh and he knew that it wouldn’t be long before he was unable to walk from fatigue. What a fine figure he would make, Marcus thought bitterly, a Centurion being dragged bonelessly through enemy territory.

Gods, what he wouldn’t give for a chance to punish Esca. That insolent piece of shit—Marcus had been so kind to him, so _kind_ , and he had regarded him as a man of honor when nobody else would. Marcus wanted to laugh at his own foolishness. What would a barbarian know about honor?

Eventually he did stumble. The men did not even spare him a glance. They did not stop or slow down, and it took several agonizing moments of being dragged face-first through rough grass and uneven soil before he was able to scramble to his feet again. He checked his shame by biting the inside of his cheek; these barbarians will never have the pleasure of seeing him shamefaced. 

Then he became aware that they were finally in the Seal People’s stronghold. Men, women, and children were all looking at their ragtag band curiously, but most of the stares were directed at him. He felt like an animal on parade, but Marcus felt strangely focused. He straightened his back and set his jaw into a thin, hard line. If he was to die here, he will die with his pride intact. No barbarian would ever be able to say that Marcus Flavius Aquila had shamed himself in death.

 _And_ , a little voice in the back of his head noted, _if I manage to kill Esca before I die, so much the better_.


	3. The Predicament

Esca pronounced his name like a curse. _Marcus Flavius Aquila_ , he’d said, and the Chieftain had repeated it as though the name were an unwanted taste in his mouth. Marcus listened to the Chieftain’s speech—he didn’t understand a word of it, except for the occasional Romano—and strove to keep his face impassive. And then the chief was done with him, and he was speaking with Esca again, and even Marcus could tell that Esca was very welcome here. 

Then Esca was moving, walking away from him, and Marcus, his control slipping for a moment, asked, “Esca, what’s happening?”

The man he had trusted turned to face him with a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re my slave,” Esca said, simply. For a long moment the statement hung between them like a challenge—Esca’s cold gray eyes were bright and there was a faint trace of amusement in his normally expressionless face. 

The earth had shifted beneath Marcus’ feet. Esca was still looking at him intently, and Marcus was dimly aware that his erstwhile slave had given an order to the Seal hunters. Marcus’ shock was so great that he was unable to put up even token resistance when the warriors hastened to obey Esca’s soft command. 

~*~

Esca’s betrayal cut through him like a knife, surer now than it had been before Esca had explained his current predicament. Marcus was surprised by the intensity of the pain. He realized, belatedly, that he had come to like Esca as a friend, that he had felt a mysterious bond with him since he had first seen him in the arena. 

Mithras above, but he had _saved_ that ingrate’s life. He had been lying for dead in the arena, his face covered in blood and his body filthy with sand, and Marcus had pleaded for his life. Marcus had given him mercy, and apparently this was how Esca repaid his debt of honor.

He quietly drank the watery broth that he had been given. The slaves’ quarters were dark and damp and dank, but at least the fire was a good one, and Marcus could feel himself warming up. _Allow me to find the Eagle and leave this place, Mithras,_ he prayed silently, _and I will offer a bull in your honor. Guide me, Light of the Sun, guide your lost son, allow me to bring you honor_.

He would finish that which he had come here to do, Esca or no Esca.


	4. Paradoxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reference here to the book. Rosemary Sutcliff did write about slavery being comfortable on Stephanos and the others. :

“You will obey me, Marcus,” Esca said, his voice quiet and lethal, “because idiocy does not suit you.” He was standing casually by the entrance to the slaves’ quarters, and all the others except Marcus had fallen into quiet submission at his appearance. Marcus’ fists were clenched, but he knew that Esca was painfully right. He was no threat here, and Esca’s pleasure was the only thing keeping him alive. “Go and see to the horses, _slave_.” He levelly met Marcus’ angry gaze with a cool one of his own. Those damned gray eyes, so impenetrable.

 _So we meet again, helplessness_ , Marcus thought, frowning as he rose. He remembered the first few months of his injury—the pain, the physical impotence, the inability to move as he had been accustomed to—and the feeling was all too similar to his current situation. His vulnerability struck him to the core.

He went and tended to the horses without a word.

Marcus had never given slavery much thought. To him it had been a fact of life, a convenience not meant to be questioned. Slaves had always been just _there_ —they were much like furniture, to be frank, albeit helpful and breathing furniture. Marcus had seen nothing wrong with this way of thought.  

But Marcus had been raised in a good household, and he was not a cruel man. Their slaves had always been born slaves, children and grandchildren of slaves, and they wore slavery like a comfortable garment. Perhaps that was why he had been so secretly fascinated with Esca—he was obedient, yes, but he always found small ways to show his obstinacy. The most telling sign was the proud straightness of his shoulders, which always sharply contradicted the submissive bow of his head. Marcus had always admired Esca’s paradox.

Now he understood Esca’s former predicament much more clearly, alone as he was in this fish-smelling village located at the end of the world. How hard it was to be submissive, how hard it was to obey! Marcus _knew_ obedience, but it was the proud, purposeful discipline of the army, not this pathetic bondage he now found himself in. It was with a heavy heart that he set about his mundane tasks—sharpening Esca’s spears, feeding and cleaning the horses, fetching and carrying and waiting on his _master_ as he ate. Marcus felt like furniture, albeit breathing and helpful furniture. There was everything wrong with this way of thought.

But Esca appears to have been raised in a good household, and he was not a cruel man. He had not yet laid a hand on Marcus, and he only asserted his authority by giving short, clipped orders that were impossible to disobey. Marcus obeyed in stolid silence. Silence was his weapon of choice—he would never call that barbarian _master_ , never.

Never.


	6. Chapter 6

Then, of course, there was the child to be reckoned with.

Daimhin, his name was. Marcus watched as he clung to Esca like a son or an especially affectionate little brother. Esca’s behavior towards the boy was particularly noteworthy, for Marcus had never seen Esca’s impassive face tempered with such gentleness. Esca smiled freely in his presence and did not seem bothered by the fact that the child was trailing him like a shadow. His erstwhile slave was exceptionally demonstrative with the boy, and Daimhin had even gone so far as to leave his father in favor of sitting by Esca’s side at dinner.

Had there also been children in Esca’s brutal past? He had not mentioned any younger siblings, but had there been younger cousins, or perhaps even a handful nephews and nieces? Had these children also been killed, innocent offerings slaughtered on the altar of Rome’s glory?

Daimhin reminded him of the children he had once dreamed of having. Military life left little room for domesticity, but he had once longed for a child to love him as much as he’d loved his own father. Marcus had always assumed that a woman would one day catch his fancy strongly enough to make him desire a lifetime bond. But such a woman had not come his way yet. If Marcus were honest with himself, he would admit that he had always been fonder of male company, but he also knew that marriage was central to the life of a proper Roman.

A proper Roman. His thoughts drifted back to Isca Dumnoniorum—he remembered Guinhumara and her babe, thought about the children who had once played in Isca’s now-razed fields. He did not know their fate; he did not know if they still lived, or if they had all been murdered in retaliation for the rebellion. Marcus had no idea if his hands were also bathed in the blood of innocents. 

He preferred not to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life (and other fandoms) have gotten in the way of this fic, but writing is therapeutic.


	7. Chapter 7

Marcus had been decorated for his bravery, but he had since realized that bravery is nothing more than an embellished term for foolishness. He watched the Seal People in their frenzied dance around the eagle— _Rome’s_ eagle, _his father’s_ eagle—and felt the last vestiges of self-preservation melt away. He jumped right into the melee like a big, blundering oaf, and was rewarded for his troubles by being clobbered on the head. He was unconscious before he even hit the ground. 

He woke to the welcome sight of Esca’s face. “It’s time, Marcus,” he said urgently, one hand on the small of Marcus’ back and the other on his arm. “We have to do this now. It’s our only chance, while they sleep.” He stared at Esca uncomprehendingly for a long moment, but soon the confusion turned into a profound sense of gratitude. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered roughly. Esca looked oddly vulnerable for a moment before he pressed a sword’s hilt to Marcus’ hand. “Quickly,” he commanded tersely, his gaze restlessly scanning the slumbering tribesmen.  
~  
The cave was sacred to the Seal People, and Marcus could feel its powerful mystery seeping into his bones. He fought out of instinct and felt alive for the first time in months; he heard the priest taunting Esca but had no time to process what he was hearing. Then they were fleeing, the golden eagle bundled inconspicuously in rags, and what followed was a nightmare of baying hounds and dying horses and the deathly cold of these hostile northern lands.

He had been taught that a true warrior fights to the death and never surrenders. That had been his intent when he had asked Esca to take the eagle and flee—he had meant to die honorably at the hands of their pursuers and buy Esca precious time. But Esca had been adamantly loyal and surprisingly angry. “I swore an oath of honor never to abandon you,” he hissed, his accent made thicker with rage. “If you want me to leave, set me free.” Marcus looked into his finely-chiseled face one last time and nodded, fumbling for Esca’s dagger and slapping it into his hand. “You’re free,” he said, already mourning the fact that he had found a true companion only to lose him in such a heartbreaking manner. “You’re free, my friend,” he whispered, and Esca gripped his hand and knelt before him and drew close enough that Marcus could see the fine stubble on his cheek.

_Kiss me_ , he wanted to say, reveling in the feeling of Esca’s hand against his head. But Esca merely looked into his eyes and swore him another oath. “I will return,” he promised, cupping Marcus’ face with both hands and touching their foreheads together. “Be strong for me, my Marcus. I will be back.” 

Marcus believed him with all his heart.


	8. Chapter 8

Esca gathered the boy’s remains in his arms. Marcus watched him press a gentle kiss to Daimhin’s forehead, and then he stayed still for several long moments with his head bowed as though in prayer. The other men were all busy tending to the living and gathering the dead. Marcus knew that he should move, that he should _help_ , but all he could do was stand in silence and watch Esca in his moment of unguarded grief.

Esca spoke to no one as he gathered wood for Daimhin’s pyre. He quietly refused Marcus’ offer to help with the preparations, then disappeared for a while into the forest and returned with an armful of flowers. The other men all looked on in respectful silence as he carefully arranged the blossoms around  Daimhin’s body. Marcus stood beside him as Esca took his father’s dagger and very gently wrapped Daimhin’s hands around the hilt. Esca stood still for a long moment as though committing Daimhin’s image to memory, then knelt down and pressed a last kiss to the boy’s forehead.

Marcus saw him hesitate before he lit the fire. His hands shook as he struck steel against tinder. Soon Daimhin’s body was lost to the flames, and Esca stood before the blaze with his head bowed and tears running freely down his cheeks.

 Marcus wanted to comfort him. He wanted to take Esca into his arms and touch his hair and tell him that all will be well; he wanted to hold Esca’s hands and put them against his lips and tell him that Daimhin’s loyalty will never be forgotten. He did none of these things. Instead he said, clearly and carefully, “He was the bravest among all the men here.”

Esca turned to him in surprise, as though he had forgotten Marcus’ presence. His grief-stricken gray eyes were painful to behold, but Marcus endured his scrutiny with as much composure as he could muster. Esca nodded after what seemed like an eternity. “The gods are kindest to the souls of the innocent,” he stated, letting his arms fall to his sides.

Marcus took the opportunity to gently grasp Esca’s hand. Esca looked mildly surprised but did not move away. “May your journey be swift and full of ease, Daimhin,” Marcus said, feeling Esca’s hand tighten against his. “Our gratitude will follow you west of the sunset.”

They watched the flames burn together. Esca's hand never left his, and Marcus knew at that moment that only the two of them could mend each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may well be the second to the last chapter. I really really thank everyone who stuck with this fic through more than a year of update drought, and I love love love everyone thoughtful enough to leave a kudos or leave feedback in my maiden ao3 work. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Rating may change as I go through this. I might not be able to resist, they are both too hot together. Will give due warning when that happens, though. :)


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